"People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning of life. I don't think that's what we're really seeking. I think that what we're really seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive."

--Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth

I've spent some time writing and it's good because it's practice. Just write, write write. I move from one story to another, the charaters totally different people in my mind, doing different things, experiencing different things. The only similarity is that they all live on the same street. It's like any block. Something draws you all to live together on that block, perhaps economics, perhaps lifestyle, perhaps backgrounds, but everyone does something else in their homes. Not everyone is cooking or playing or talking to Aunt Thelma on the phone.

Imagine this:
You're sitting in a room in your house and looking out the window. There is a faint breeze, rustling the leaves together. Now imagine this: Outside on a tree branch a leaf is blown to and fro by the wind. On this leaf's underside, a yellow-green caterpillar is clinging with all its tiny legs to every groove of the leaf, holding on for dear life as it is rocketed back and forth. And it's chilly in the shadow of the tree with the wind whistling in his ears. Tears are leaking from the corner of the caterpillar's eyes as he squeezes them shut against the cold wind. He is trying to make his way slowly to the top of the leaf where it is warmer and the wind wont buffet him around so much, but as he inches slowly, willing his little feet to move one at a time, a particularly strong gust knocks his last eight feet from the leaf and he is left affixed to the leaf only by his first few feet. Dangling he realizes that his weight has somehow attracted gravity like a magnet and he knows that soon his remaining legs will give in and he will fall to the rocks below. With the thought of his doom so close at hand he peers at the leaf he is clinging to and sees a tiny aromatic piece by his mouth that he had not noticed. It's scent attracts him and by instinct and he takes a nibble, loosening his hold on the leaf. As he falls to his death he is relishing the succulent juices of the leaf and dies a happy caterpillar. For a caterpillar picture click here.

Well I hope that you enjoyed that.